Simplicity
by nonhipsterish
Summary: No one knows how this is going to end up.


I was never one for conversations, whether they were school related or not, I just prefered not to speak. Even if I were invited into the social circle, I tended to just lay low (usually behind someone) and wait for it to be over. When that didn't work, I ran away. Ran back to my dingy apartment and pray they wouldn't come seeking me out. This may sound a tad bit over-dramatic, I know, but I'd honestly rather clean up New York City's sewers than have a simple conversation, running seems like a good option.

So naturally, when I was looking for jobs, it would make sense to get one that _didn't _involve much social interaction. But this option simply ran out the door when I got my first job at Skaia Coffee Shop. The only reason I took the job was because I like coffee, and it's conveniently just a few blocks from my apartment building. It also didn't require any schooling, unlike the other jobs I applied for. I mean I was already in enough debt as it is. I only had one condition when I took the job, no working on the weekends.

The weekend was my time to catch up on lost sleep and avoid everyone that would try to have some form of conversation with me. I would usually find myself stumbling through the front door on Friday, collapsing on my couch, and not getting up again until I required food or the bathroom. I'd simply pull a blanket over my head and would be out like a light. Who knew people needed this much sleep, right?

But right when Monday rolled around again, everything was thrown back at me. My hands were constantly busy and almost never at my sides. The sleep I would get was restless and often spent with sheets on the ground of my rarely used bedroom. My apartment was filled with the sounds of papers flipping and rapid typing. At one point in my short life, this had seemed like chaos. By now though, it had reached a sense of normalcy.

At the cafe, everything was wild. Orders were thrown around, mugs dropped and shattered, customers yelled at impatient workers who were in the same situation as myself. In fact, since I often worked at the register, I received a bulk of the insults. This made me want to just quit and never come back, but I wouldn't let myself give up so easily, no matter how many middle aged most likely suburban women sent complaints that I spelled their names wrong on a to go cup.

However, there is one male that often comes down to the cafe during my shift who I enjoy. He comes in everyday at 2:30 sharp and orders a small coffee, only a small coffee. Not that I have this memorized or anything, he just comes in a lot. I've learned that his name is Dave and that he doesn't go to the same school as me, or any school for that matter. But I can't just ask about a stranger's life story, that would be rude, and slightly creepy.

As soon as his drink arrives on the counter, he's gone. No 'thank you' or anything. Not that I mind, well I do mind but…he interests me. His coat was wrapped around him tightly, hat tucked over his head and shielding his face in shadow. The only indicator of him even being there would be his quiet voice ordering the drink. The way both of his pale hands wrapped around the warmed cup. Oh yes, he certainly breached my curiosity. I didn't know how I would actually get a chance to talk with him though, but I was sure that I would be able to.

As the weeks went on, my shifts gradually became shorter or longer and sometimes I found myself leaving at the same time the stranger would arrive. I couldn't bring myself to talk with him though, I was scared. Terrified of how desperate he would think I am. My hands would begin to shake at the mere thought of him, and the worst part is that I don't even know his name. I felt terrible about this and in my hurry to leave the cafe, accidentally bumped into someone. To my horror (and utter frustration with myself), it was him. The stranger I'd been fawning over like a young girl with a crush on someone. My cheeks reddened and I swore silently at myself, face twisting into a wince as I forced myself to look up from my dirtied gym shoes.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir." My voice came out in a squeak that I silently cursed at. "I just wasn't paying attention and you were moving so quickly and I… I'm sorry." I released a sigh as my fists curled in my jacket pockets.

"No, no. I should have moved out of the way," He replied softly, brushing off his coat with long fingers. I shifted on my feet when he stepped around, ducking my head to hide the bright red stain on my cheeks. As I began to move forward though, he called me back. "You work here," He gestured at the glass door behind him, "don't you?"

My only response was a feeble nod, for I was too scared to do anything else. My hands began to shake so I stuffed them deeper into my pockets, chewing on the inside of my cheek to calm myself down.

He laughed and like his voice, it was soft. I quickly decided that I liked it and wanted to hear it more often. "What's your name? Your name tag was always covered by something when I would try to look at it."

"I'm John," I replied, slowly bringing my head up to look at him. "It's nice t-to meet you." My hands continued to twist nervously in my pockets, I didn't know what he would respond with, if he would respond in the first place.

"I'm Dave, but I guess you already knew that, you write my name on the cups. But…it's nice to meet you too.

Dave:

I don't know what attracted me to this particular cafe as opposed to the dozens of others that were littered around the city. But for some odd reason, I had decided I would go in there. It was an odd place, the floor was dusted with ground coffee beans, they played radio talk shows over the speakers and the workers weren't all that bad.

When I first walked in three months ago, I expected the scent of different air fresheners to be there. But it wasn't, all I could smell was coffee, different types of it too. Sometimes it was laced with chocolate, other times caramel or hibiscus. But always coffee. And that was what had gotten me interested, it smelled just like any place that sold coffee should smell. So I went back, every single day.

There was one barista there who had captured my attention, the way he'd eagerly wait at the counter to get someones order. The way his fingers would hover above the keypad, just barely brushing across the keys. I could never quite figure out his name though, he moved too quickly for me to discretely look at his name tag. The only reason I wanted to do this in the first place was just so I could know the name of the person who gave me my drinks, that's all, I swear. After every visit, I would bolt out the door. I was terrified of getting too comfortable. I didn't want to get too comfortable because that would mean they would begin to get sick of me, and I couldn't let that happen.

By the time I would get home though, the coffee would be finished and I would be forced back into the reality of my home, of being unloved and unneeded. They didn't want me there, they couldn't have wanted me there. I'm not going to the college my father wanted me to, or any college for that matter. I'm a failure to myself. I didn't want to believe it, but I did not have any excuse not to. All of my applications were rejected, my plans ruined, the small friend group that I did have in high school was gone. But in those short months, I would allow myself to fall back into the comfort of being around others, of holding tightly to the faint shreds of a dream that I knew I wouldn't be able to reach. I had to try, I needed to try for my own sanity, my own safety.

Then on that one afternoon, he was there. Not at the counter, where he normally is. But in front of me. I could see the faint outlines of freckles that dotted across his cheeks and watch as red bloomed across his face. I couldn't bring myself to move, I didn't want to move, moving would mean being farther away from him and closer to something I couldn't face on my own. He answered the problem by moving away himself and stammering out an apology. I was about to tell him just how unnecessary the statement was when he looked down. As I forced myself not to sigh out my frustration, I spoke.

"No, no. I should have moved out of the way," I retaliated, shaking my head even though he couldn't see it. Attempting to see if he would lie, I asked, "You work here, don't you?"

His nod was so small, it barely classified as a nod. At least I knew that he wasn't lying to me though. I carefully ran my hands through my hair, smiling to myself when he looked up and even releasing a little laugh. "What's your name? Your name tag was always covered by something when I would try to look at it."

"I'm John, it's nice to meet you." The small hiccup in his voice was barely noticeable as he spoke, and I felt my heart speed up slightly. _Oh my god you just learned his name, calm down. _With an inward nod to myself, I said my name in return, as not to be outdone.

Afterwards, we both stood rather awkwardly on the sidewalk. What was there to talk about after you just met someone? I didn't know if we had anything in common, and I certainly wasn't going to be the person who asked about his interests, judging by the way he was standing, he wasn't going to either. I crossed my arms over my chest, foot tapping on the ground and resisted the urge to run away, to find a new coffee shop to go to because there was no way I'd be able to return to this one anymore. His hands wrapped and unwrapped around the base of his olive green jacket as he seemingly waited for something to come and interrupt the nonexistent conversation.

I was just about to back up and leave the area, kicking up fallen leaves in my wake when he spoke up, rather timidly. "Why...why do you always leave so quickly, most of the customers stay at least for a little while, but you don't. You always leave right when the drink gets put on the table."

I swallowed hard, sifting through possible answers I could supply off the top of my head. I didn't want to tell him my whole lifes story, something simple, anything simple. "I uh...like drinking outside?" By the look on his face, I could tell that he knew this was a lie, he didn't say anything against it though.

The air between us was tense for a moment before a single, soft "oh" passed through his lips. He looked up at me again before looking away. "I should...I should get back home. I have a lot of homework that I haven't done yet."

And then he spun on his heel and left, the sound of his shoes tapping the ground was the only thing I could tangibly focus on. I slowly began to turn and walk in the opposite direction as he presumably continued walking back to his house. I silently clutched at the rough edges of my coat, indulging in the feeling of the fabric scraping across my palms. My hands shook and trembled as I walked forward, swallowing back the feeling of tears even as they attempted to slide down my cold cheeks. Why was I even crying? I had just met him.

Maybe that was why, I had just met him, and was already losing him. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, I was supposed to be next to him. And now I was just walking further and further away from someone who...who could have been with me. Why was I even pining over someone I barely knew? Was it for the potential? For what could have been? I didn't know, I didn't want to know. My thoughts tried to reassure me with the simple statement: _he would have been just like the rest. _I tried to deny this, but couldn't help believing it, even for a small moment. I was so desperate to have someone, anyone near me. I threw myself at the first person who even attempted to talk to me. I absolutely despised myself, despised who I had become.


End file.
